The semester ended today, and frankly, it ended not a day too soon. Tempers were frayed, patience was thin, and frankly, it was just time. It is not unlike what I tell my students. Everyone could get an A in their class (well, except probably that math class) if they didn't have to balance kids, rent, work, school, pneumonia, and your cat having puppies. Work would be great and easy and more manageable if we didn't have to manage, well, manage life, too. So it is good that the term is ended.
Since I had my 40 hours in by about 10AM yesterday, I snuck out a bit early. I felt bad for about 20 seconds or so. Then I went home. And simply goofed off. I put together a workbench and a saw and fine tuned it as best as I could. I started a mound of laundry that was threatening to take over my bedroom. And I ran, something that I haven't been that religious about. In fact, I probably have been to church more often or the same amount of times as I have run in the past few weeks. Here's to improving one or both of those stats, though I am guessing it will be the running...
And I cooked dinner. I haven't cooked hardly at all, and I missed the process and the result of that. So tonight I ate well. Though I ran three miles, I am not sure that it evened out. I stared out with an exceptional chèvre cheese. I forgot bread of any sort, though--it was good but might have been better had it not been on Ritz crackers! I know. I apologized to the cheese. Then I had some olives, stuffed with with blue cheese or garlic. Then I made risotto with several kinds of mushrooms and broccoli florets and then I made tarragon chicken--chicken breasts lightly browned in butter, a little bit of garlic and lots of tarragon. Did I mention tarragon? A whole package of fresh tarragon was used. Then I baked it til the skin was crisp and brown. A semi ok Pinot Grigio was incorporated into the risotto (and my tummy). All in all, it was a pretty good meal.
The next few days will be interesting. Change is good and change happens, but then there are those moments when changes and differences from a previous life smack you and hit you upside the head. I think of a year ago, and have to say "wow." Not all are negative changes, but most are very challenging right now. Who knows? It will keep me running and probably cooking. There are a couple great movies which will provide an escape or two, and a friend or two who will provide relief, comic and otherwise. And besides, it is almost Christmas! How bad can it be?
Stay warm!
Friday, December 21, 2012
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
More
Low clouds, feels like snow
Joints ache, a storm is coming
Soon, my aching back!
Dark skies give me pause
Should I start my distant drive?
Christmas, when snow looms
Sensing, smelling, seeing snow
The first flakes confirm the promise
Snow anticipated and planned for
predictions of 1-3 or 4-6
Let's hope it's inches and not feet
Joints ache, a storm is coming
Soon, my aching back!
Dark skies give me pause
Should I start my distant drive?
Christmas, when snow looms
Sensing, smelling, seeing snow
The first flakes confirm the promise
Snow anticipated and planned for
predictions of 1-3 or 4-6
Let's hope it's inches and not feet
First entry in slam
Ice
sleet rain slush
Snow
fog cold mush
Still
calm quiet night
Tress
glitter in the light
Shovel
scoop plow salt
Icy
roads make traffic halt
Slip spin slide stuck
Time
to call the tow truck
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
A long day...
I am Christmas shopping. Really. It just happens to be at a resturant that serves roasted dates, calamari, and a more than decent red wine. I was a teacher today, and gave my final tonight. My extended office hours and meetings filled the rest of the day and believe me, it was all filled with people. I kind of feel that this is the first time I have taken a breath and relaxed all day. So sigh. Relax. Sip. Savor.
It is absolutely beautiful out tonight, and led me to the poetry prompt for the next mini poetry slam. The prompt is this--you have to either address or include the phrase "the promise of snow." I am still working on mine, but since the snow isn't quite here, I have a few hours.
Until then, it is back to shopping. And sipping. And savoring.
It is absolutely beautiful out tonight, and led me to the poetry prompt for the next mini poetry slam. The prompt is this--you have to either address or include the phrase "the promise of snow." I am still working on mine, but since the snow isn't quite here, I have a few hours.
Until then, it is back to shopping. And sipping. And savoring.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Children
My house was filled with the sound, the happy sound, of children yesterday. I volunteered to take some photos that I suppose will end up as gifts to relatives near and far, so I made my living room into a studio, and opened my house (and my heart) for the little rats. I mean the wonderful, charming little ones....
And for this I was glad.
I am not sure why the news of the most recent school shooting affected me as it did, but not only was I incredibly saddened by the news but I found myself very angry. I know that part of that is because I feel the earth tilt at the sadness of 20 six and seven year olds not being able to go to school anymore, or the 20 families that will face a bleak, sad, holiday. I was saddened imagining the impact that this will have on the 700 other students in that school, a school that will no longer feel safe, now or probably ever. I felt sad for the 500 families that will have to have very difficult, challenging, and tear-filled conversations about lost friends and lost innocence. How does a community, however defined, whether a family, a classroom, a school, or even a town of 27,000 or even the nation, recover?
I am mad and sad because we can actually make a list and place this tragedy on a scale and compare it to other school shootings--it was worse than Columbine but not as bad as Virginia Tech is what I heard one commentator say. That we can place this mindless, fathomless tragedy on a list and compare it, by body count, to other such tragedies does not exactly paint a bright picture of today's society. Is our new standard, the bar that we try and reach, simply that it could have been worse?
I have thought about it a lot and I am pretty certain that I am not a fan nor a proponent of gun control. Not because of the 2nd Amendment. That is a false, flawed argument, but that is another blog. No, I think that I am against it simply because it would be like shutting the doors after all the inmates or farm animals or whatever have escaped. We are the most heavily armed population in the world, with more guns than people. It is a bit late to say that we will begin controlling guns now.
I am certainly not anti-guns. I know that guns themselves aren't inherently evil or bad--frankly, in most worlds, my cameras and this computer can wreck more havoc than one person's guns. As a collector of most everything (or so I have been told) I admire the craftsmanship and precision of guns, and I wonder about the history that they carry with them.
But I do think, like President Obama, that we have to have a serious conversation about guns in our society. I don't understand why it takes more paperwork and identification for me to buy Sudafed than it does for me to buy most guns. I don't understand why I can buy 10,000 rounds of ammunition on the internet, but I can't buy a box of wine the same way. I don't understand why the doors to gun shops are easily accessible, but the doorway to affordable and accessible mental health care is open mostly or too often to only those who can afford it and seldom to those who need it.
As I read the news of late, I also don't understand the deplorable lack of education about guns. Several news articles have covered unintentional shootings. A four year old shot his two year old brother with a gun he took from his parent's bedroom... A grandfather shot his granddaughter who was coming home later one evening... And I am sure I can find others--all told, more than 15,000 people were killed by guns in the United States last year.
And I do believe that it doesn't have to be that way. I know someone who grew up with guns, a lot of them, like gun store quantity. She not only survived this, but she didn't even turn out to be a gun-crazed loner who wears black. But I suspect that in that household, respect for guns was taught from an early age. If the kids had not respected the guns or the rules surrounding them, I bet it would have been rather pointedly pointed out to them. They didn't play with guns. They knew gun safety. They knew the danger and the privilege of having or using a gun. It was and is far safer that house with 100 guns than the house with one gun in a bed stand where no one knows what to do with it. We need conversations about education.
I read with interest that as a nation, we are buying more guns than ever, especially since the election. People fear that the government is going to stop gun sales. I sincerely doubt that this is going to happen. But we need to have some conversations, honest and unlimited ones with everything on the table about some aspects of gun sales. Should the assault weapon ban be reimposed? Do most people need an AR-15 or a Bushmaster? Do we need limits on magazine size? Isn't 11 enough or do we need 17 or 100? Do we need better and more inclusive background checks on who buys guns? Should I be able to just buy a gun at a gun show on my way home from prison or the local mental health care facility if the seller isn't licensed? Do we need...well, you get the idea. We need some political will to at least discuss some of these issues, though admittedly political will seems to be in short supply. Right now, however, no one is even willing to have to the conversations, and that is sad.
I am going through all the photos I took yesterday, and I can remember all the inane, silly conversations, the absolutely wonderful heartening and hopeful conversations that I was able to have with these fantastic kids. And I am glad. But I want more of them, and want everyone to have the chance to have them. For sure, 20 families aren't having them this holiday season. I think to make sure we can have more of thes good conversations, we probably need to have some serious, more difficult conversations about guns.
And for this I was glad.
I am not sure why the news of the most recent school shooting affected me as it did, but not only was I incredibly saddened by the news but I found myself very angry. I know that part of that is because I feel the earth tilt at the sadness of 20 six and seven year olds not being able to go to school anymore, or the 20 families that will face a bleak, sad, holiday. I was saddened imagining the impact that this will have on the 700 other students in that school, a school that will no longer feel safe, now or probably ever. I felt sad for the 500 families that will have to have very difficult, challenging, and tear-filled conversations about lost friends and lost innocence. How does a community, however defined, whether a family, a classroom, a school, or even a town of 27,000 or even the nation, recover?
I am mad and sad because we can actually make a list and place this tragedy on a scale and compare it to other school shootings--it was worse than Columbine but not as bad as Virginia Tech is what I heard one commentator say. That we can place this mindless, fathomless tragedy on a list and compare it, by body count, to other such tragedies does not exactly paint a bright picture of today's society. Is our new standard, the bar that we try and reach, simply that it could have been worse?
I have thought about it a lot and I am pretty certain that I am not a fan nor a proponent of gun control. Not because of the 2nd Amendment. That is a false, flawed argument, but that is another blog. No, I think that I am against it simply because it would be like shutting the doors after all the inmates or farm animals or whatever have escaped. We are the most heavily armed population in the world, with more guns than people. It is a bit late to say that we will begin controlling guns now.
I am certainly not anti-guns. I know that guns themselves aren't inherently evil or bad--frankly, in most worlds, my cameras and this computer can wreck more havoc than one person's guns. As a collector of most everything (or so I have been told) I admire the craftsmanship and precision of guns, and I wonder about the history that they carry with them.
But I do think, like President Obama, that we have to have a serious conversation about guns in our society. I don't understand why it takes more paperwork and identification for me to buy Sudafed than it does for me to buy most guns. I don't understand why I can buy 10,000 rounds of ammunition on the internet, but I can't buy a box of wine the same way. I don't understand why the doors to gun shops are easily accessible, but the doorway to affordable and accessible mental health care is open mostly or too often to only those who can afford it and seldom to those who need it.
As I read the news of late, I also don't understand the deplorable lack of education about guns. Several news articles have covered unintentional shootings. A four year old shot his two year old brother with a gun he took from his parent's bedroom... A grandfather shot his granddaughter who was coming home later one evening... And I am sure I can find others--all told, more than 15,000 people were killed by guns in the United States last year.
And I do believe that it doesn't have to be that way. I know someone who grew up with guns, a lot of them, like gun store quantity. She not only survived this, but she didn't even turn out to be a gun-crazed loner who wears black. But I suspect that in that household, respect for guns was taught from an early age. If the kids had not respected the guns or the rules surrounding them, I bet it would have been rather pointedly pointed out to them. They didn't play with guns. They knew gun safety. They knew the danger and the privilege of having or using a gun. It was and is far safer that house with 100 guns than the house with one gun in a bed stand where no one knows what to do with it. We need conversations about education.
I read with interest that as a nation, we are buying more guns than ever, especially since the election. People fear that the government is going to stop gun sales. I sincerely doubt that this is going to happen. But we need to have some conversations, honest and unlimited ones with everything on the table about some aspects of gun sales. Should the assault weapon ban be reimposed? Do most people need an AR-15 or a Bushmaster? Do we need limits on magazine size? Isn't 11 enough or do we need 17 or 100? Do we need better and more inclusive background checks on who buys guns? Should I be able to just buy a gun at a gun show on my way home from prison or the local mental health care facility if the seller isn't licensed? Do we need...well, you get the idea. We need some political will to at least discuss some of these issues, though admittedly political will seems to be in short supply. Right now, however, no one is even willing to have to the conversations, and that is sad.
I am going through all the photos I took yesterday, and I can remember all the inane, silly conversations, the absolutely wonderful heartening and hopeful conversations that I was able to have with these fantastic kids. And I am glad. But I want more of them, and want everyone to have the chance to have them. For sure, 20 families aren't having them this holiday season. I think to make sure we can have more of thes good conversations, we probably need to have some serious, more difficult conversations about guns.
Monday, December 3, 2012
Fog
OK, I may be weird, but I like most of these photos. I like the almost monochrome look, and the pseudo-mysterious look. And, I think that they are even more subtle, not that I ever am, because they were shot with film. Though it does bother me that they kind of look like the framed art at Kohls or at Fairfield Inn.
Still, It makes me want to shoot more with film, though it is probably just because I like the cameras. The first three were shot with a Leica R4 and a 90mm Elmarit. The second three, the wider angle and sharpest photos were taken with an M4 and a (brand new, made in 2012) 35mm Zeiss Biogon. The last three were taken with a Leica IIIG and a 50mm 3.5 Elmar. What I find interesting is the differences in color more than sharpness. All were shot on the same film, with careful exposure and I think, careful focus though with the fog you couldn't really see a whole lot. There are just subtle differences between the lenses, not the cameras. as you might expect from lenses from 1953, 1977, and 2012. Things have gotten better, I suppose, but not all that much better, and perhaps one lens is not better than the other, but rather, just different in little, noticeable ways.
OK, way to much technical mumbo jumbo. I guess I was just happy to intentionally go out and take photos and to come up with one or two images that I kind of liked or at least intrigued me. I do have to admit that I am REALLY missing taking pictures of people. Any volunteer models out there? Let me know...the price is right.
Sunday, December 2, 2012
It's been a quiet week...
I have been thinking of what I would write this week, as it seems that it is a tradition or a pattern to post at least once a weekend. I think that in some ways it has been a roller coaster sort of week. I have let enough slip that all has not been well. I have literally been sworn to secrecy but I can share that work has not been all roses. The challenge with a job like mine at the level of my position is that there are some politics. OK, there are a lot of politics! But I seem to have weathered this storm for now, and while there is still "storm debris" to manage, I think that all are in a better place. I even won an award this week, a metaphorical pat on my head and in my bank account.
So I am managing. People still challenge me a bit but things are OK. If I was honest with myself, I would tell myself, "Self, take a break. People have said that they are this and want that or whatever, or that you need to do this or don't do that. Let it play out." I am not that patient, sometimes, and that is hard. Sometimes, I have been told, I focus on the negative and don't see all the positives! Me, the half-full kind of guy. Who knew? So, patience is the guiding word and principle. I have to work on that.
I did take photos this weekend, but I shot them on (GASP!) film so I can't post them yet. I will tomorrow. They should be kind of fun. It was foggy all day, and these should reflect that. It was a Leica day, as I was out with three different Leica cameras, the oldest from 1954 and the newest from 1978. That was kind of fun--no push button zooms or instant pictures today. Actually, the waiting is killing me. We are so used to instant gratification (see above) that having to wait and wonder is hard. Not all the answers (or pictures) come up immediately, and I laughed at one point when I "chimped" my Leica IIIG. That is what you call what photojournalists do after a big play or news event. Every one stops and looks down at the back of their camera to see if they got the shot. It is just such habit--you take the photo, and then you look at the monitor to see if you got the shot. All I saw was chrome and leather that those nice Germans put on the camera back almost 60 years ago.
So more tomorrow. Remember, patience!
So I am managing. People still challenge me a bit but things are OK. If I was honest with myself, I would tell myself, "Self, take a break. People have said that they are this and want that or whatever, or that you need to do this or don't do that. Let it play out." I am not that patient, sometimes, and that is hard. Sometimes, I have been told, I focus on the negative and don't see all the positives! Me, the half-full kind of guy. Who knew? So, patience is the guiding word and principle. I have to work on that.
I did take photos this weekend, but I shot them on (GASP!) film so I can't post them yet. I will tomorrow. They should be kind of fun. It was foggy all day, and these should reflect that. It was a Leica day, as I was out with three different Leica cameras, the oldest from 1954 and the newest from 1978. That was kind of fun--no push button zooms or instant pictures today. Actually, the waiting is killing me. We are so used to instant gratification (see above) that having to wait and wonder is hard. Not all the answers (or pictures) come up immediately, and I laughed at one point when I "chimped" my Leica IIIG. That is what you call what photojournalists do after a big play or news event. Every one stops and looks down at the back of their camera to see if they got the shot. It is just such habit--you take the photo, and then you look at the monitor to see if you got the shot. All I saw was chrome and leather that those nice Germans put on the camera back almost 60 years ago.
So more tomorrow. Remember, patience!
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Cameras
I bought two cameras today in a totally unplanned splurge of camera excess. I'm not entirely sure why. No doubt that it was in part because of a crappy week and a dark and dismal weekend--cameras are like crack--they do make you forget all that stuff. But also because they were incredibly good deals. Every now and then I stop and peruse the higher end retailers like Goodwill and the Salvation Army. Despite what people say, it isn't for my clothes, but I do look for cameras. Sometimes I find the odd bargain, but today I hit two home runs.
At Goodwill I found a Poloroid 110a, one of the three or four Polaroid cameras that are actually worth something. Most are worthless, despite what antique dealers or desperate people trying to sell the family heirlooms might say. This one has an exceptional lens and can be converted to use 4x5 film. The camera was basically free, but the conversion is about $150 if you supply the camera or $450 if you don't, so you can guess the value of the camera. I might actually do this and have a very packable large format camera.
But the best deal was at the Salvation Army. At one time, I had more than 30 Leica cameras, so I think I know a bit about them. I certainly can recognize them from across the counter, and boy, did my eyes brighten a bit when I saw this case with its $8.99 price tag. I casually asked to see it, and sure enough, it contained a real live Leica IIf with a 50mm f3.5 Elmar, its original lens. It isn't Leica's most valuable model of camera, but it still, every Leica ever ever made is worth more than $8.99! The case alone is worth about $100, the lens is easily $275 and the body is worth at least $175. Let's just say I did not hesitate to buy it. I have made better deals for a camera, but not many, and really, can anyone ever have too many Leicas? I have four now, and I kind of feel that I am just getting started. Now if only I could take some pictures! Maybe tomorrow.
Honestly, though these cameras were exceptionally good deals, I did not buy them for that reason alone. Of course this is silly to have so many cameras as I can't exactly take pictures with all of them or even some of them every day. Some times, I sit with an old camera and think about and imagine the stories that they have covered and the pictures that they have taken. This Leica was made in 1952, 60 years ago. Did it take pictures of a little girl drawing a picture or on the playground or of the waterfall at the state park? Did it take pictures of sad events and beautiful landscapes and what part of peoples' lives did it record? I guess I collect cameras for the same reasons why I collect fountain pens--I wonder and imagine what stories that they have told. And maybe, I might even be able to record a few more stories with these cameras...
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Thanksgiving
Sometimes I think about the title of my blog which is of course Travels, Adventures, and Life. Those who have stayed with the blog for all these years have probably read about each of those three things, though not in equal measure. I think that there probably has been more posts that are just about life rather than travels.
These past few days are indicative of why there has been more about life than there has been about travels. I had perfect intentions for this holiday weekend and I was supposed to be somewhere in the Olympic National Park in Washington State. But life intruded and I am instead walking around St Cloud.
It is hard to say all of the whys that would explain the changes, and I can't and won't try. Suffice it to say that I have more important things to deal with and manage here than to head west for a little walkabout so I changed my plans. I am sad about that, but I have to recognize that this is progress of sorts--most of my life I would have just said "whatever" and gone anyway, but I'd best deal with this and pay attention here. We will see how this all might turn out.
The change made me scramble a bit for dinner today. While eating a turkey loaf sandwich from a gas station is OK when you are on an adventure, that wouldn't have cut it for a thanksgiving dinner at home. I do like leftovers, but I hardly needed a whole turkey, even a small one. Besides they were all frozen. So I found a chicken and roasted it with tarragon and garlic butter. I made stuffing with chestnuts, raisons, apples and pine nuts and garlic. I relished the relish of gourmet jellied cranberries. The mashed potatoes were new red ones and were made with garlic, butter, and half and half which completely negated any nutritional value of the noble potato. It wasn't all that bad. If the smells lingering in my house are any indication, I might have perhaps probably used a tad bit too much garlic in my endeavors but it was pretty good overall. Plus the meal yielded the correct amount of leftovers which is of course the main purpose of such a meal.
When I sat down to my meal, with my half full glass of wine it started to snow with great big Snoopy-like flakes. Once I was done, I wandered a bit trying to find a picture for the day. Ironically, I found a picture of about 30 wild turkeys scratching for their dinner after escaping being a dinner.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Half full
It is Thanksgiving, more or less, , and today I made my thanksgiving dinner. I have to admit that today's dinner was a bit different than what I had hoped for and wanted for a Thanksgiving dinner. Dinner was green chicken curry with vegetables and tender Basmati rice--good, but a far cry from turkey, cranberries, and mashed potatoes that were filled with butter and cream. That is ok. Curry is probably a better meal for one, I guess.
I think about past Thanksgiving meals and my heart nearly breaks. Today's was both more and less than I had hoped for. Certainly I am safe and warm and good--there is plenty to be thankful for. Still, I think of past thanksgivings, recent and even those further back. I think of those I cooked, and those which I shared and they were equally meaningful. I think missing either type of dinner makes this one hard, even though I do like green curry. None the less--how can they compare?
I don't know. I got a magnet for my birthday for my fridge that said "Some say the glass is half empty, some say the glass is half full. I say, are you going to drink that?" So what do I do? Complain about my glass being half full or celebrate what parts of my life are still more than half full? Or just drink?
To be honest, my last few thanksgiving dinners were more than I expected or planned for--clearly my glass was more than half full these past few years. Several years ago, I received a paper plate full of turkey and dressing, a simple meal that meant more than most--clearly my day was more than half full that day. So despite a perceived or possible deficit this year, I think that over the past years, generally my glass is more than half full or my plate was very full. I have to remember that it during during these days of green curry.
This year I am heading west, to Washington, for Thanksgiving. I leave for Seattle on Thanksgiving day, and will be somewhere on the Washington coast or rainforest on Thursday. Perhaps dinner that day will be a turkey loaf sandwich from a gas station. But who cares? Generally, my glass will still be way more than half full, no matter where I will be.
Happy Thanksgiving.
Sunday morning
I guess this is a pretty good way to spend a Sunday morning. Of course I have already gone to church (twice) and had oatmeal that was hand cut by local monks, with no sugar of course, and walked for miles in the warm November sunshine and sweated out any impurities that might have possibly come near me.
Or perhaps I sat at a coffee shop, read two paper papers and one online one, and drank just enough coffee and ate a scone.
Friday, November 16, 2012
The Round House
Let me be the one to point out that discriminating minds besides mine liked Louise Erdrich's book, The Round House. It won the National Book Award for fiction yesterday, making her one of the few Minnesota writers to win such an award.
I must be on a roll, for I have also read Katherine Boo's Behind the Beautiful Forevers: Life, Death, and Hope in a Mumbai Slum, which won the non-fiction award. It was a uncomfortable book to read, and it moved Mumbai way down on my list of cities to visit. It did nothing to displace my faith that some people will bloom and grow where ever they are planted.
Lumix Lx-7
Of course that title won't mean anything to anyone, but I see it as an opening prompt. It was/is a crappy week. I could go on about that, but I am pretty sure that no one really cares about that. So I did what I have been known to do when all is crappy--I bought a camera. I saw this one in England, but the exchange rate was hardly favorable. The ghost of Black Friday coming made it semi-affordable.
It seems to work. I tried it out on an orchid I had laying around, and then even bought kale and cabbage for a picture. It is great in low-light, which is the high light of the camera. The ink bottles were in the dim light of my lodge-like lounge and it is a picture that the LX-5 wouldn't have been able to take. I mean, what would have I done if I would have needed to take a picture of ink bottles and I only had an LX-5? I would have been out of luck. Not any more! Bring on those ink bottles! I am ready.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Pea soup
It might have been a way to describe last night's fog, but really, it was my dinner. I made yellow pea soup, apparently a Swedish staple, for dinner/lunch. It seemed a good day for soup of one sort or another and I thought I would try something different.
Apparently I am not hardcore Swedish enough, which doesn't surprise me at all. I mean, there isn't a single piece of herring in my house. None-the-less, I was not too impressed with the results. It was somewhat bland and I am still not convinced that the spice marjoram is the spice of life. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't great. With research, I found out some tricks. The first was to add hot brown mustard to it as you eat it. Now why that didn't come to mind immediately still escapes me. Or, one recipe has you using salted pork, though a bit different than the salt pork I am used to from my Arkie youth. I guess you cut up the pork shoulder roast and put it in a bowl and then pack it tight and layer it with salt. Let it sit like that for at least overnight, and then use it. Hmmm
Actually, I liked the meat part of it, but the pea part of the soup was so-so bland, even with more marjoram. Whatever that is. I salvaged the meal for sure with good slightly sweet cornbread, and while the wine was pretty indifferent ( it was white, after all) the meal itself was filling and left a warm glow. Now if I can only find hot brown mustard and a herring breath mint...
Nyquil and thunderstorms
Last night as I lay in bed in a Nyquil induced fog, I thought about the fog outside that was being wiped away by quickly moving thunderstorm. I have succumbed to the cold that has been swirling around our executive team, and the over the counter drugs help ease me to sleep and sometimes slow the seal croak of a cough. But that chance to sleep and perchance to dream was shattered by nature's thunder and lightening show, one that was worthy of a steamy July evening but rather surprising on a cold and foggy November one. Of course it was snowing this morning as I headed out for my morning coffee. I predict hail and and sandstorm later today. After all, it is Minnesota.
Unpredictable as yesterday was, it was also a certain promise that weather now will play a larger role in out lives in these coming months. No November 11 Armistice Day snowstorm, but I am glad that I have my down coat, my car has a new battery and fresh oil and jumper cables in the back. After all, it is Minnesota.
Unpredictable as yesterday was, it was also a certain promise that weather now will play a larger role in out lives in these coming months. No November 11 Armistice Day snowstorm, but I am glad that I have my down coat, my car has a new battery and fresh oil and jumper cables in the back. After all, it is Minnesota.
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Another...
I posted this comment, but it should have better play. Again, at least let me know who you are...
Anonymous said...
Anonymous said...
Lights twinkle as daylight fades. Shadows intermingle, flicker and flame, weaken to nothing.
A leaf, a smooth sigh, flits from breeze to breeze, only to land and never be retrieved. The price paid for twinkle is daylight's fade and yet the toll at moments seems worth its weight.
A leaf, a smooth sigh, flits from breeze to breeze, only to land and never be retrieved. The price paid for twinkle is daylight's fade and yet the toll at moments seems worth its weight.
Friday, November 9, 2012
First contribution
An interesting contribution to the poetry prompt. I respect the anonymous part, but please tell me who you are! Other submissions are welcome!
Where angels confuse the term literal with its appropriate counterpart
Entrails of angels, spewing their insides to God.
As in, I literally fell off my chair when I heard the news, or I literally can't take this anymore. The winged things had "lost it" when God called on them to give it to Him straight:
"What have they been doing down there?"
He boomed. (Cue thunder).
"You have no idea what so-and-so did today."
They would answer. And on and on, spewing
the news, good bad or otherwise. God's ears are large and angels' guts? Diaphanous tendrils.
Where angels confuse the term literal with its appropriate counterpart
Entrails of angels, spewing their insides to God.
As in, I literally fell off my chair when I heard the news, or I literally can't take this anymore. The winged things had "lost it" when God called on them to give it to Him straight:
"What have they been doing down there?"
He boomed. (Cue thunder).
"You have no idea what so-and-so did today."
They would answer. And on and on, spewing
the news, good bad or otherwise. God's ears are large and angels' guts? Diaphanous tendrils.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Contrails and other things
I walked out of work into a beautiful evening with a wonderful sky. I wonder how such things are formed, though it scarcely matters. Odd as it was, it was equally wonderful. "X" marks the spot of something. I wonder if everyone saw and noticed the sky as they wandered home after a long day.
Lights twinkle on as daylight fades
Clouds with mysterious light
glow as they catch daylight's last look
Let the first line be the prompt--what is your poem?
Or, do you have a better prompt?
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Other books
So one anonymous person asked what other books I have read so the below is the answer to that question.
I am and have been a fan of Louise Erdrich for more than 20 years, and I just enjoyed reading her latest book, The Round House. I am trying to think--I suppose that some her books have been mysteries or at least have had questions or riddles (or lives) to solve and puzzle through, but this is a real mystery and I was surprized to see Amazon classify it as such. I think that it is bit richer than that. Well, it is a bit richer than most of the other mysteries that I sometimes fill my Kindle with. As with all her books, there is history and family that provides the undercurrent and foundation to the book. I guess I like that--doesn't history and family provide all our foundations? This book is edgier than than some of hers, but it also moves a bit more quickly. I am not sure if I wanted to begin reading her books I would start with this one, but then again, it may be the most stand alone novel that she has written. Only rarely does she rely on the web of family that she so carefully has created in her other books.
It is unusual, I think, to read the book after you see the movie that was made from that book but I made that exception in this case. Last Sunday I went to see "Perks of Being a Wallflower" and was very impressed. While perhaps a tad bit unrealistic (I am pretty certain I don't remember high school that way, and Emma Watson types were never interested in any shy introverted loners at my school--I could only dream...) it was still very good. It touched on the usual teenage angst coming-of-age themes but also touched on cliques and being gay and coming out and teen suicide and the absolute crushing loneliness of being different and scared and being on the outside looking in. So I bought the book, and since it's short, read it one late-night sitting. The movie, with its focus on time and fewer words, used shortcuts to tug on your heart, and I realized that I was not the only one crying in the movie. The book more fully explained why you would cry or really why you should cry and most people will. Actually, they were far more alike than is usual between a book and a movie and the movie. I think the movie fully captured the spirit of the book--perhaps this was allowed by having the author direct the movie. It won't be the the next Catcher but it should be read by more people.
Today I read John Grisham's latest, The Racketeer. Yawn. It was readable but certainly not memorable.
I wonder why I have read so much lately--I have had no more time, really, and my life is generally pretty good. There are some dark corners and holes from a loss here and there so perhaps I am trying to fill these corners and holes with fiction. Normally I am more nourished by the visual side of my little brain, and maybe because of my well-documented shortcomings in that area I am turning to books to fill that void. I guess it is saving viewers from even more blogs of flowers and the inane. I guess we all have to put up with words for a bit.
I am and have been a fan of Louise Erdrich for more than 20 years, and I just enjoyed reading her latest book, The Round House. I am trying to think--I suppose that some her books have been mysteries or at least have had questions or riddles (or lives) to solve and puzzle through, but this is a real mystery and I was surprized to see Amazon classify it as such. I think that it is bit richer than that. Well, it is a bit richer than most of the other mysteries that I sometimes fill my Kindle with. As with all her books, there is history and family that provides the undercurrent and foundation to the book. I guess I like that--doesn't history and family provide all our foundations? This book is edgier than than some of hers, but it also moves a bit more quickly. I am not sure if I wanted to begin reading her books I would start with this one, but then again, it may be the most stand alone novel that she has written. Only rarely does she rely on the web of family that she so carefully has created in her other books.
It is unusual, I think, to read the book after you see the movie that was made from that book but I made that exception in this case. Last Sunday I went to see "Perks of Being a Wallflower" and was very impressed. While perhaps a tad bit unrealistic (I am pretty certain I don't remember high school that way, and Emma Watson types were never interested in any shy introverted loners at my school--I could only dream...) it was still very good. It touched on the usual teenage angst coming-of-age themes but also touched on cliques and being gay and coming out and teen suicide and the absolute crushing loneliness of being different and scared and being on the outside looking in. So I bought the book, and since it's short, read it one late-night sitting. The movie, with its focus on time and fewer words, used shortcuts to tug on your heart, and I realized that I was not the only one crying in the movie. The book more fully explained why you would cry or really why you should cry and most people will. Actually, they were far more alike than is usual between a book and a movie and the movie. I think the movie fully captured the spirit of the book--perhaps this was allowed by having the author direct the movie. It won't be the the next Catcher but it should be read by more people.
Today I read John Grisham's latest, The Racketeer. Yawn. It was readable but certainly not memorable.
I wonder why I have read so much lately--I have had no more time, really, and my life is generally pretty good. There are some dark corners and holes from a loss here and there so perhaps I am trying to fill these corners and holes with fiction. Normally I am more nourished by the visual side of my little brain, and maybe because of my well-documented shortcomings in that area I am turning to books to fill that void. I guess it is saving viewers from even more blogs of flowers and the inane. I guess we all have to put up with words for a bit.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
Books
I am a reader, though it seems that sometimes I am a sporadic reader. But of late, I have read what seems to be a lot--three books since last Sunday. Hardly the Evelyn Woods rate of reading but faster than some. It is kind of funny. As I read more, the creases in the cushions of my couch grow deeper and the seat of my leather chair, previously un-smooshed, is becoming more formed to the shape of my semi-large butt. And the treadmill is lonesome. There are different ways, I guess, to fill your soul and nourish your body. I will, I promise, run tomorrow.
While these books weren't War and Peace, they were real books, not just the normal mystery?cop/spy books that help decompress the day. Or is "that help the day decompress?" No matter, I am sure you get the idea. They use real words, often of more than one or two syllables, and they do require you to think.
The last book I read and the one I finished within the last hour was Michael Perry's Visiting Tom. Set in rural Wisconsin not far from where I grew up, it is filled with references and people I recognized. I totally enjoyed it. Plus, he went to and graduated from my school, UW-EC, so he has to be good, right? I am trying to think of a brief statement that describes what this book is about and I am struggling to make it that simple. He writes about family and the pain and joy of watching children grow, but he also writes at length about the other end of life's journeys as he watches his friends and de facto family age and decline. Maybe after experience both ends of this spectrum these past few years, this book resonated more deeply with me.
Most remarkable is how he describes a group of people I once heard described as "useful fellows," or really, "useful fellers." Most of us have met the type, and some of us have been blessed to get to know some of them and benefit from their guidance. My mentor and friend, a man who I worked with for 14 years, could fix a camera or a clock and that was just touching on his ingenuity. My father and his friend traded skills and while he wired houses for electricity, his friend plumbed them so the pipes wouldn't rattle when you turned the washer on. My grad advisor could make a fresser or a table and write books that changed the discipline. I met a man this past year who thought nothing of being able to (and knowing how to) feed a reluctant calf, reload ammo, weld the combine back together, or butcher his own meat. All saved tools and scraps of wood and metal because they knew it would solve some future problem. Remarkable people, and in this book Perry describes a neighbor who is even more of a renaissance man. a man who can make a sawmill or a canon and/or make a toy for a young girl. It makes me feel almost foolish--as Perry notes, what do I tell people like this, that I type real good?
I suppose when you can't find something to write about that is yours alone, it works to write about others' writing. I am not proud--it is an accomplishment of sorts to just read, and even more of one to reflect and grow a little tiny bit from what you read. I will, and I hope you will too, settle for that right now.
While these books weren't War and Peace, they were real books, not just the normal mystery?cop/spy books that help decompress the day. Or is "that help the day decompress?" No matter, I am sure you get the idea. They use real words, often of more than one or two syllables, and they do require you to think.
The last book I read and the one I finished within the last hour was Michael Perry's Visiting Tom. Set in rural Wisconsin not far from where I grew up, it is filled with references and people I recognized. I totally enjoyed it. Plus, he went to and graduated from my school, UW-EC, so he has to be good, right? I am trying to think of a brief statement that describes what this book is about and I am struggling to make it that simple. He writes about family and the pain and joy of watching children grow, but he also writes at length about the other end of life's journeys as he watches his friends and de facto family age and decline. Maybe after experience both ends of this spectrum these past few years, this book resonated more deeply with me.
Most remarkable is how he describes a group of people I once heard described as "useful fellows," or really, "useful fellers." Most of us have met the type, and some of us have been blessed to get to know some of them and benefit from their guidance. My mentor and friend, a man who I worked with for 14 years, could fix a camera or a clock and that was just touching on his ingenuity. My father and his friend traded skills and while he wired houses for electricity, his friend plumbed them so the pipes wouldn't rattle when you turned the washer on. My grad advisor could make a fresser or a table and write books that changed the discipline. I met a man this past year who thought nothing of being able to (and knowing how to) feed a reluctant calf, reload ammo, weld the combine back together, or butcher his own meat. All saved tools and scraps of wood and metal because they knew it would solve some future problem. Remarkable people, and in this book Perry describes a neighbor who is even more of a renaissance man. a man who can make a sawmill or a canon and/or make a toy for a young girl. It makes me feel almost foolish--as Perry notes, what do I tell people like this, that I type real good?
I suppose when you can't find something to write about that is yours alone, it works to write about others' writing. I am not proud--it is an accomplishment of sorts to just read, and even more of one to reflect and grow a little tiny bit from what you read. I will, and I hope you will too, settle for that right now.
Friday, October 26, 2012
Poetry (take 2)
Fall storms forecasted
Sure to be foreboding
Darkness before night promised
Or,
Blackened sky, light stikes
Sky promises but removes
Fall lands heavily
More about all of this but I am tired. Sleep was elusive last night, and I presented at a conference on my peers today.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
First snow
For so many of my years, I went chasing for a "first snow of the year" photo, and that is a hard tradition to give up. Today it snowed, and is snowing still, and I had to get out and take some photos. I am "up north" at a conference, so time was limited as was editing equipment and software, but you get the idea. The snow (I am not sure if this is the correct word) inspired small poetry slam with a person I know. The prompt was
Huge mean flakes
My poem was:
Huge mean flakes
blind my view
of the dark visage of late fall
Hiding those remaining flashes of color
Presaging months of white, gray and brown
Their version:
Huge mean flakes
sting my skin and blind my view.
Dark clouds swarm overhead, swallowing the last drop of light
choking a final flashing of color. Of hope.
A sinister omen.
White gray nothingness awaits...
Of course, you know me, Mr. Glass half full...though today drained it fast so here is my response
With apologies to T.S.
Is this the kindest month?
With soft snows covering life and mistakes of the past?
Innocence reborn though only temporarily
A respite
A pause
And false
And deceiving
Deceiving
Monday, October 22, 2012
Should be, could be...
I should be running. I should be sweating by now on the treadmill, getting rid of toxins and worries and stress and helping my aging body make it a few more years longer. Every intellectual fiber knows this and the moral fiber feels more than a bit guilty because I am not. Instead, I am sitting here with a (large) glass of impossibly good wine, with a full tummy, and listening to Brandi Carlisle and Alison at a volume that can't last in a housing unit that I share with 200+ people.
But that is where I am, genteelly burping an almost perfect meal. I had pan-sautéed salmon that was gently kissed with a dill cream sauce with truffle butter highlights. The green beans were roasted with garlic and sea salt and were crispy tender. The pasta was fresh, from Italy, and lightly dressed with butter from Ireland and herbs. The salad, eaten last, of course, was four kinds of lettuce with a dressing that was even better for the cherry tomatoes and the aged Italian parmesan cheese and the dash of 15 year old Balsamic vinegar. The wine was a Cab, and while I don't normally like Cabs, apparently the answer to that is to buy a 30.00 bottle of it...this is so smooth. The snob would talk about shadows of cherry and currants with sherry flavored oak barrel reflections, or something like that. Or, I would say, "better than that Moscato stuff." And most amazing about all this is that I made it all myself! While I know I should be running, I do have a hard time substituting running for a meal for this. That may be why I have had to give up being a professional beach volleyball player and why I am cute, but slightly pudgy... I think only salmon and leeks would be better, but I couldn't get the recipe from my friend Steve.
What is a bit hard is that I would trade every bit of this meal for a mac and cheese meal with someone, but that is a bit complicated right now and I realize that. But strides were made, or rather, baby steps were made today. I am kind of at peace in that area so that is good. It is amazing what can happen sometimes when people drop their guard and think about what they want and need and what is important. Certainly nothing is easy, but perhaps some things are possible.
You know, with my photo block and total confusion about what I want to do and what I even liked about photography, I have been thinking about past assignments and things that worked. One assignment that I remember that so moved me was as simple of an assignment as I have ever written. I asked a kindergarten teacher to ask her class "what made the leaves change color?" Wow, out of the mouths of babes... And you know what? As I look at leaves in their fall glory, I wonder what makes them change too. I know all about the scientific why they change and fall off, but what about the aesthetic reasons why they are so arresting and beautiful before they do complete their death spiral down to the damp nothingness of the ground? I know leaves need to fall, but why do they do it in such a blaze of color and beauty? Why are we so lucky to see it? There is a tree at SCSU that is obviously sheltered from the frosts and the winds, and it is pictured here as it fights the forces that will strip it of its leaves. I've photographed it before from my office and it is no less arresting this year as it stands alone as a last sentinel of glory, or of fall.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Making yourself do things
I have talked about struggling with photography right now and nothing has changed on this front. I literally have to make myself take photos and I still don't completely know why this is the case. It is frustrating and honestly, sad for me. Probably one more thing to add to the list for extensive therapy. Or not. Maybe it isn't that important, that I am struggling just because that is what I expect I should do. I don't know. I guess I will settle on the frustrating sentiment.
In the absence of vision or goals or audience or creativity or whatever is this block, I am making myself take photos. No people photos--heaven forbid! Those are complicated and difficult and fraught with challenges and well, people! Though I have to admit that I miss that process most of all. No, I decorated my house with flowers this weekend, and I picked up a camera to document that.
I decorated because I had friends over for an evening, something I haven't done in the three months I have been here. Part of that is that people haven't lined up outside to visit, but also, I haven't successfully asked any one to come over for a meal. I am not overtly an extrovert and probably not all that social, so it is hard to open up (and to open up my space, such as it is) to let people in. I recharge with alone time, and not always with people. This shouldn't be a surprise to some who read this!
What I am discovering though is that this process is not unlike taking photos when you don't want to or feel like it. There are rewards for doing so, not the least that you can say you did it. And that it worked. There is no doubt that the photos that I am posting here could be a bit sharper and better composed, just as there is little doubt that dinner could have gone a bit more smoothly (honestly, we had cheese and bread and olives and wine. And just shrimp. And wine. Did I mention that we had wine? That does explain why I didn't cook any of the other things I had planned...) but it was fine. It was fun, and it was part of the process of getting better at doing this. And the flower photos are fine, too. I suppose that I can see what would make them better is just as much of the process.
And I might do both tasks again.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
An unexpected day
Today was a fall day of singular beauty, and even more so because it was unexpected. It surged past its expected highs and cloudless-ness, and it was a gem. These are shots from my phone as I walked to my office at SCSU. Except the leftover one from the plane and my trip. As cliche as it is, I still do love photos from planes.
So while it was an exceptional day, it was also a hard day. People were butts today. Three people cried and one person yelled at me while doing so, I inadvertently made someone sad, and well, I was probably the third. But of no matter. All of these things made me really really sad, and no less so because of my self-acknowledged part in causing all these situations. Some days, I can't seem to say I am sorry enough.
I think that I was so "aware" and sensitive in part because of my nature but also because of nature and the coming fall. I love fall, I really do. I hate fall, I really do. For me, it is such a metaphor of life. It is so beautiful but it is also fleeting. It fades and disappears with no regard to your effort or wanting. It is a harbinger of darker times, literally, but also as a precursor to a more desolate winter or at least that gray, wet, dreary, late fall. April, that cruelest month, seems a long time away.
I know someone who would flat out say that I am too focused on what might happen than the beauty that is right in front my face, and I acknowledge that this is sometimes the case. With that in mind, I offer these photos as proof that I sometimes do actually look right in front of my face, and sometimes even see things.
So while it was an exceptional day, it was also a hard day. People were butts today. Three people cried and one person yelled at me while doing so, I inadvertently made someone sad, and well, I was probably the third. But of no matter. All of these things made me really really sad, and no less so because of my self-acknowledged part in causing all these situations. Some days, I can't seem to say I am sorry enough.
I think that I was so "aware" and sensitive in part because of my nature but also because of nature and the coming fall. I love fall, I really do. I hate fall, I really do. For me, it is such a metaphor of life. It is so beautiful but it is also fleeting. It fades and disappears with no regard to your effort or wanting. It is a harbinger of darker times, literally, but also as a precursor to a more desolate winter or at least that gray, wet, dreary, late fall. April, that cruelest month, seems a long time away.
I know someone who would flat out say that I am too focused on what might happen than the beauty that is right in front my face, and I acknowledge that this is sometimes the case. With that in mind, I offer these photos as proof that I sometimes do actually look right in front of my face, and sometimes even see things.
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